Chapter 991: Overfed

Ang was just about to act when Anthony had already stepped in front of Samus and said: “Let me handle him, my lord.”

As he spoke, a holy light slowly flowed over Anthony’s body, not forming a papal crown, but instead coalescing into a set of Holy Armor.

Then, Anthony slowly drew forth the Soul Mo Sword—Ang had thrown it to him during his transformation.

Samus’s gaze fell on the Soul Mo Sword, his eyes widening in shock: “Phituer? Come back! Bind! Phituer!”

Samus gestured frantically, shouting Phituer’s name, but the Soul Mo Sword showed no reaction whatsoever.

“What did you do to it? Did you erase its consciousness? That’s despicable!” Samus roared in fury.

Anthony refused to take the blame, shaking his sword: “Why don’t you answer him?”

The Soul Mo Sword replied irritably: “Why should I? You’re about to die anyway.”

“Phituer, you—you betrayed me?” Samus panicked further. This damned soul-sword had just declared he’d “die soon”—did that mean he couldn’t even escape?

Samus glanced behind him and saw the terrifying light bubble and the giant tree beating down the Planar Will, while Ang had landed on the hardened lava and was studying clumps of earth.

If he could break past this human, he might still escape—but the Soul Mo Sword was in Anthony’s hands, leaving him at a weapon disadvantage.

Thinking this, Samus shouted: “Using a stolen Soul Mo Sword isn’t impressive! Put it down and fight me one-on-one if you’ve got the guts!”

“I know you’re provoking me, but it works—Old Du, catch!” Anthony hurled the Soul Mo Sword toward Du Luo.

The Soul Mo Sword spun through the air; Samus’s expression shifted, and he reached out to summon it—without restraint, this was Phituer’s best chance to flee.

But the Soul Mo Sword showed no reaction at all, like an ordinary sword that couldn’t fly, tracing a parabolic arc before landing firmly in Du Luo’s hand.

“Good, you’ve got some self-awareness,” Du Luo sneered.

One hand gripped the hilt, the other removed his tall hat and placed it before him—the hat floated midair.

Du Luo first pulled a primordial magic egg wrapped in seven-colored light from the hat and placed it on the sword’s hilt, then pulled out the Golden Touch Rod and tapped it.

The primordial magic egg was firmly embedded at the junction of hilt and blade.

“What… what is this? What have you implanted in me?” Though unfamiliar with the object, he recognized the Dawn Primordial—it was wrapped in crystal-wall energy, so it couldn’t be ordinary.

As Du Luo pulled out more items, he explained: “A transmutation weapon that’ll explode you into powder. If you peel it off your body, it detonates. If you get slashed, it detonates.”

“….”

“To keep you from getting slashed, I’ll make you a scabbard. No need to thank me.” Du Luo smiled and pulled out a bag of small black crystals.

These were fragments of black crystal, leftover scraps from the Soul Mo Sword’s cuts—irregular, thin shards.

Du Luo first passed the leather through the Golden Touch Rod; the leather automatically thinned and stitched itself into a sheath.

Then he glued silver-leaf onto the sheath, followed by the small black crystal shards, pressing them tightly together, and tapped them with the Golden Touch Rod.

The silver-leaf instantly melted, seeping into the gaps between the black crystal shards and fusing seamlessly with the leather sheath. A raised bump formed, shielding the primordial magic egg—now, unless the sword was drawn, the egg couldn’t be touched.

Du Luo beamed: “With the sheath, you won’t accidentally hurt anyone. When it vibrates, the spring-clamp at the tip ensures the sheath moves with the blade, preventing entanglement. Even if the leather sheath tears, the outer black crystal layer will rapidly dull your blade—can’t hurt anyone anymore. Happy?”

Phituer’s consciousness fixed on Du Luo—he’d met only one other person as shamelessly audacious: someone who used a transmutation magic egg to control him, then built a sheath to restrict him, then told him “no thanks needed,” and asked if he was happy.

Happy your ass. If he could, Phituer would slice Du Luo and the equally shameless Anthony into seventeen or eighteen pieces—but he couldn’t. He gritted his teeth and forced out two words: “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Du Luo locked the sheath and hung it at his waist.

Meanwhile, Anthony had already formed his Pope’s Scepter, swinging it like a two-handed hammer before him: “In the Infinite Prison, you chased me down with your superior strength. I dodged not because your martial skill was great, but because your power dwarfed mine. Now, under my Lord’s protection, I’ll match your exact power level and show you true martial art.”

Anthony’s words left Samus bewildered—but they reminded Negrilis: “You talk too much. I’d forgotten you used to be the Black Knight Emperor.”

Soon, Samus witnessed true martial art: the little wraith hovered nearby, its power projection nearly lossless. Anthony suppressed his power to match Samus’s level—or slightly lower—and swung his scepter, pummeling Samus into a bloody mess.

On the other side, the little wraith and the sapling teamed up to drag the Planar Will’s soul out. The wraith punched the lava giant’s chest, exploding its entire rock body and blasting out a tiny flame.

The now-massive sapling swung its giant hand and slapped the flame back.

The wraith slapped it back again; the sapling slapped it back again. After several exchanges, the tiny flame gave up, collapsing into a puddle of fire that hissed and slithered across the ground like burning kerosene.

Gave up? The little wraith turned, confused, toward Ang.

“Catch it,” Ang said.

The little wraith scurried over, scooping up the puddle of flame with its palm, then dashed toward Ang.

The giant tree formed by the sapling lowered a branch, which rapidly shrank back into the sapling’s form and also dashed toward Ang.

Arriving before Ang, its roots extended, lifting the sapling to head height, then another root stepped onto Ang’s skull.

It shook once, shedding a single true leaf, then murmured: “Sleepy… sleepy…” before curling up and falling asleep on Ang’s head.

Negrilis picked up the fallen true leaf, worried: “Are you alright? You lost a leaf—was the cost too high?”

Ang shook his head and pointed at the flame-lava tree: “Overfed.”

Overfed—growing an unprecedented new species of World Tree and absorbing the Planar Will’s power.

PS: Too many New Year distractions. Happy Lunar New Year.